


Oh You Kid

by bigmisssunbeam49



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: 1920s, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-09-01
Updated: 2000-09-01
Packaged: 2020-06-22 10:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19665787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigmisssunbeam49/pseuds/bigmisssunbeam49
Summary: AU; college boy fun in the 1920’s. Part of the KSOF.





	Oh You Kid

“Damn that Jim Kirk,” Worthington Van Spock IV muttered to himself; then he blushed in shame. After all, decent chaps don’t swear.

Even when they were as provoked as Worthington Van Spock IV was.

And he was mightily provoked. Spock had planned a big cram session for Professor Kor’s biology test, and he had invited his two best chums, Bonesy McCoy and Paulibus Chekov. But those two rascals had stood him up! Instead of meeting him on the marble steps of Jefferies Memorial Library as they were supposed to, they had hopped in the back of Jim Kirk’s shiny new flivver the second Jim had shouted, “Say, fellas, I know a new speak just down the road! It’s the bee’s knees! Let’s blow this college rodomontade and drink some!”

Worthington despised Jim Kirk. Kirk smelled of earth and labor. Worthington had half a mind to go up over to Prexy’s office and demand to know why a son of tillage such as Jim Kirk was permitted to soil the precious swards of Starfleet U. It certainly hadn’t been that way when Dads matriculated.

But even Prexy always beamed with pleasure when he saw Jim Kirk strolling over the college lawn with a pretty coed on each arm.

Kirk the quarterback, the pigskin genius!

Kirk the captain of the rowing team, who led Starfleet to its first oarsmen victory in twenty years!

Kirk the ukulele maestro (he’d won Prexy’s heart when he played a note-perfect rendition of Missus Prexy’s favorite song _When You Peeked in My Gazebo_ )!

And now even his dearest boyhood pals, the boon companions of his heart, had abandoned him for the showier thrills of Jim Kirk’s company.

Well, he’d show them. He’d study extra hard and make the best grade and Professor Kor would post his carefully scripted exercise book on the door and wouldn’t Bonesy and Paulibus feel ashamed of themselves and rightly so!

*******************************

Oh, no, Jefferies was a madhouse! All the Starfleet coeds were there studying for their home economics midterm! At one table, a group of girls were frantically deconstructing a dirndl, at another they were hastily sketching the cunningest floor plans for a breakfast nook , and at the biggest table twenty girls were slaving away at memorizing the exact ingredients of a Gold Star Brownie recipe. “How many marshmallows did you say?” one sobbed.

Women, he mentally sneered.

“Oh, Christine, did you see the wrist-warmers I knitted for Jim! I’ll give them to him tomorrow after Latin class!” Spock heard one maiden say.

“Jim is so dreamy!” another said and sighed.

Honestly.

Then he heard them giggle and whisper when they spotted him stroll by.

Obviously he couldn’t study there.

But, it would be just … too … too … macabre if Spock had to wend his lonely way back to the rooms he shared with Bonesy and Paulibus. After all, this business of Bonesy and Paulibus palling around Jim Kirk had happened before.

Spock sighed.

No, he did not want to return to their rooms, to the limp pennants and cold hearth, to the forlorn precision of the three bunks with their stiff and striped woolen blankets. He supposed he could get their man Montgomery to stir up another fire, but Monty was probably already at the speakeasy too (Monty liked his gin).

Then he remembered the little motto he always recited to himself; it had always brought him a certain … clarity of mind.

What Would Edgar Allan Poe Do?

Well, Poe would find a convenient garret and immerse himself in the finer things of the mind.

The Jefferies library had always been famous for its extensive underground tunnels. Why had they been built? No one knew, but upperclassmen had always told the gullible freshmen terrible legends. They said an escaped slave had died in the belly of Jefferies! Or else a Yankee Civil War veteran had starved to death while hiding from marauding belles! Or possibly a heartbroken Indian princess had committed suicide down there with her own obsidian knife!

Spock lifted his head.

Suppose a spook did get him? Who would care? He’d go there and write a poem, a great poem, a poem full of truths that would change the world. He pulled his tribble-skin coat tightly around him and took the stairs to the basement floor of Jefferies.

Finding the entrance was much easier than he thought it would be.

My word, it was … spooky. Most spooky. The spookiest.

Cobwebs, nitre dripping down the stone walls like a dungeon.

Still: What Would Edgar Allan Poe Do?

He forged on. There was a dim light at one juncture. There he spread out the old tribble-skin; then he sat down and drew out his big fountain pen and his tablet.

He bit the pen.

_Let’s see._

_The Cave_ he carefully wrote.

_Hmmm._

_What golden woodland sprite-y doth invite me hence .. ._ , no, wrong mood, _what, um, golden woodland minx doth caress my …_ no, not right either; wait, wait, _what golden being with golden e’e,/be it devil or deity!_ Oh, good stuff, Worthington!*

He sat back. _Hmmm. Devil or deity, dum dum dee dee dee._ He closed his eyes to concentrate.

My, these … tubes were quite comfy, quite a nice place to relax, even if in need of some repair.

He shook himself. What the …

There were noises emanating from down the hall. Ghostly ghastly noises, the repetitive thudding footsteps of a horrendous being.

He stood up: what was making that noise?

He peeked around the corner.

My God.

Half a dozen pale forms were standing in a circle. What …

He could hardly take in what he was seeing at first, but, yes, he was seeing what he was seeing.

The figures were naked men, and not just naked, but naked and …

There was Prexy!

And Professor Kor! Spock blinked. Good Lord, no wonder Kor taught biology. Look at the size of …

And there was Montgomery! His jaw slack, his hand working lazily against his prominent …

And by the warm illuminating glow of a lantern, they were all watching a unique tableau at the center of the circle.

It was Bonesy! Hanging naked from the pipes that crisscrossed the Jefferies tube!

Kneeling in front of him was Paulibus, also naked. And he had Bonesy’s … membrum virile in his mouth! One of course had read of such things, but one never expected to see it. My goodness, Paulibus was good at …that.

And behind Bonesy was Jim Kirk, naked and making some extravagant gesture that Spock didn’t quite grasp at first.

Oh, no.

Surely that was hurting Bonesy. Because clearly Jim Kirk was plunging his fist again and again into Bonesy’s very fundament.

But Bonesy did not seem to mind. At all. His eyes were closed, his mouth open and emitting soft growling sighs. He undulated again and again between Kirk’s insistent fist and Paulibus’ soft and enticing mouth.

Spock was suddenly so stiff his ears rang.

“Jim! Don’t stop!” Monty said; his manhood was so rosy, so aroused it was surely a matter of moments before he reached satiation. His hand moved in a very experienced way.

“Then it will be my turn,” said Professor Kor; his eyes were gleaming. “Oh, won’t I postilion this prize — and how! My staff is hard as ivory!”

Kirk kept pounding away at Bonesy.

And Spock couldn’t help noticing that Kirk naked was even more beautiful than Kirk clad.

So muscular, so beautifully proportioned, with that glorious face that drove the girls wild!

And his engorged manliness was as beautiful a one as Spock had ever seen.

The excitement had entered a new animal-like stage —both Bonesy and Monty was gasping as if they were drowning, and he saw Monty’s shoulders began to shudder and white clots of seed spurted from his inflamed organ. And now Bonesy was screaming, “I come, I come, ahhh!” and Paulibus sat up a little straighter to suck in every drop that fell from Bonesy’s excitement.

Then Bonesy collapsed. Kirk withdrew his fist (Spock saw he had covered his hand with one of Monty’s indiarubber work gloves) and caught Bonesy. Kor rushed over to help him and, as he did, he and Kirk exchanged a wide open-mouthed kiss that left them both breathless as they untied Bonesy.

Spock couldn’t help himself; he moved to get a better look. Kirk looked up at the sudden movement. “We’ve been caught,” he whispered.

“Oh, no!” Prexy said. “Let’s scurry! Here help me with Bonesy!” and he and Monty and Paulibus and Kor scuttled down the tube with Bonesy’ unconscious form.

Only Kirk stood his ground. “Who goes there?” he said.

Spock stepped out of the shadows.

“Spock,” Kirk said. He was still quite erect.

Spock had never been in a situation like this, but he was not displeased. Kirk looked very nice that way, very very nice. There was something pleasing, an almost erotic entasis in the broad shoulders, short-legged Priapus that was Kirk.

“Well, Jim, it seems I caught you with your pants down, as it were.”

Kirk didn’t answer. His soft golden eyes raked Spock’s body. Then he said: “You liked what you saw, I can tell.” His eyes were focused on the loose front of Spock’s white flannels. “I’m right, aren’t I, Spock?” he added teasingly.

Spock knew what Kirk wanted. He stuck his black fountain pen between his teeth to free his hands and then unbuttoned his trousers and brought out his engorged manhood. He stroked it, showing it off, making sure Kirk saw every inch.

Kirk’s eyes grew soft and wanting. “You’re bigger than Kor even.”

“Yes, farm boy, now get on your knees to me.” And Kirk’s beautiful wide mouth was suddenly around Spock’s member.

Kirk certainly knew what he was doing; Spock felt an aching tingle all through his body. And, as Kirk sucked him, he was also snaking one hand back behind Spock to pull Spock’s trousers down over his firm high buttocks; Spock felt Kirk’s hand caressing his backside. Then Kirk’s impudent finger began to tease his puckered bottomhole. Spock rocked himself against Kirk; oh, Kirk had a silken throat, he could take all of Spock in. Sooner than he would have thought possible, he was coming, he was gasping and jerking against Kirk’s throat and Kirk’s finger was inside him making him feel even more thunderously than he had felt before.

Like Bonesy, he was swooning from Kirk’s caresses —the ecstasy was almost too much, and he fell backwards again the hard stone of the Jefferies tube.

********************************

“Spock! Spock! Wake up!” said a not-unfamiliar voice. ““Are you all right!”

Spock opened his eyes. There was … “Jim!!!” he said with far more excitement than he had intended.

Jim Kirk was standing above him, fully clothed in his flannels and letter sweater. “Did you fall asleep here? ” he said to Spock in a mild ingratiating voice.

Spock looked around. Everything had changed. There were no ropes, no lantern. “I must have been dreaming,” he said wonderingly.

Kirk knelt by him. “I’ll say. Hey, that must have been some dream.” He lifted one eyebrow as he nodded at the evident traces of the dream on Spock’s trousers.

Unbelievably Spock’s manhood was stirring again. “Yes, it was.”

“Which of our lovely Starfleet coeds were you dreaming about? Christine? Penny? Jan-Jan?”

“None of the above, I’m afraid.” He saw that Kirk’s mouth was wide and wet. “Where are Paulibus and Bonesy?”

“They stood me up, I suppose. We were supposed to rally here.”

“You’re alone then, Jim?”

“Very alone.”

They looked into each other’s eyes. Then Spock let his eyes go down the limber plumpness of Kirk’s body. Kirk was clearly as aroused as he was.

“You’ll have to make do with me,” Spock whispered.

“I think I would like that.” Kirk’s hand moved down between his thighs and began to caress himself; then he unbuttoned his trousers and brought out his manly equipment. He was quite ready for love.

Spock licked his lips. “Did you ever see the book they have upstairs in the locked room? The one on Greek art? Shows a man with a young lad?”

“No, but if you’re talking about buggery, I’ve seen that on the farm plenty of times. Is that what you want?”

My, what a capital chap Jim Kirk was! The farmboy had instinctively known his place with Spock, his place on the receiving end of Spock’s manhood.

“Yes, my dear boy, I do. Take those trousers off immediately.” And, as Kirk doffed his pants, Spock also drew out his stiffening organ. “Get it wet enough so I won’t hurt you.” And Kirk put his willing mouth around Spock’s manhood. Then Spock leaned back. “Climb on top of it, Kirk. That way I can appreciate the sight of your rosy staff as I plunge again and again into you.”

Kirk groaned and, straddling on Spock’s legs, placed himself with his delightful nether hole just above Spock’s splendid manliness. Then he began his slow and delicious descent.

Spock saw flashes of light, he heard a roaring in his ears, he could feel the creamy warmth of Kirk’s body all around his most sensitive part. Kirk had a gift of contracting the muscles of his buttocks — oh, he was squeezing the most perfect ecstasy out of Spock!

“Kirk, you devil! I’ve never had a more desirable experience!”

“Your cock is like heaven to me, Spock!”

And then Spock began to feel his crisis approach; jerking furiously inside the plump arcs of Kirk’s ass, he was going to make this experience last as long as he could. The narrow channel of Kirk’s fundament was tightening around his prick; he could feel that he was at just the right angle to drive Kirk mad with joy. Then they both began to erupt against each other with gasping abandon.

They fell back in each other’s arms.

“Spock, that was unearthly.”

“Yes, quite,” Spock said and kissed Jim, a slow open-mouthed kiss, and Jim leaned back against him. Then they slowly, lovingly disconnected themselves, and lay beside each other.

After a moment of companionate stroking, Spock spoke. “Jim, what are you doing this summer? We’ll be spending the season at our lakeshore family home, and we’ll need a driver. Excellent pay, not much work, long idle nights to while away. Better than plowing or whatever, I should think.”

“Chekhov said you and your fiancé were getting married.”

“Oh, Paulibus is an utter dunce. I’m not marrying Pringy this summer; that’s next summer after I graduate.”

“Pringy?”

“Pringy Von Gotrocks. Her father owns Vulcan Steelworks. Dads’ idea that we marry, not mine, I assure you.” Spock found Pringy clean and wholesome, but profoundly uninteresting. Not like the rosy bit of flesh beside him now. “Come, Kirk. Say yes, like a good chap.”

“I won’t have to room with that escapee from the Scopes trial, Monty, will I? I mean, in the servant’s quarters at your swanky estate?”

“Hardly. I have my own suite of rooms, complete with a sleeping porch for a manservant. ” He rolled over on Kirk. “I must say you are driving me wild. Do say yes.”

Kirk gave him a look, mischievous as a flapper and just as easy.

“Here, Kirk, I’ll buy you a motorbike.” He thrust himself against Kirk, their softening organs gently nudging. Quite like a poem by old Walt Whitman!

“Say yes, now,” Spock whispered again.

“Oh, you kid,” Kirk purred back, “of course, I will,” and they both leaned in again for a lingering kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> <tap tap tap>is this thing on?  
> Sunbeam here.  
> As you can probably guess, I was supposed to write a tale about Spock getting hot for Kirk when they were trapped in a Jefferies tube. Well, I tried my best.  
> A personal footnote of no interest: when I was fifteen I bought a book for a dime at a yardsale; it was called “Compulsion” and Meyer Levin wrote it. “Compulsion” is a well-written fictionalization of the true story of Dickie Loeb and Babe Leopold, two college-boys/lovers who committed a famous thrill-murder in 1924 Chicago. The male-male sex scenes were so potently described that something began in me, a taste for something that hasn’t ended 35 years later. This story is a warped tribute to that book.  
> And what is the Star Trek connection, you might ask?  
> Well in real life … Loeb and Leopold cruised a private boy’s school looking for a victim; the victim they chose was Bobby Franks, but one of the boys they considered was a thirteen-year-old named Billy Chon. Billy Chon grew up and changed his name to William Shawn and became the long-time editor of the New Yorker, and, of course, father to … The GRAND NAGUS! That’s right, Wallace Shawn’s dad.  
> See, life makes sense!  
> Beam!!!  
> And don’t nobody say Sunbeam never taught ‘em nothing.


End file.
